Angels We Have Heard On High
by Tifaching
Summary: If it's the last Christmas the world is going to get, Dean wants to celebrate it with Sam.  Set mid-season five.  Deaf!Dean.


_Written for a lovely prompt: __While Sam is on a Christmas eggnog run, deaf!Dean comes out of the hotel room to find a bunch of kids wanting to sing to him. They're so cute he lets them, not letting on that he can't hear a word they're singing._

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><p>The spirit of the Christmas season was something Dean had always loved, though he would deny it to his dying breath. It had always been easier to put on his "I don't give a fuck" mask as a child when all the other kids would go on and on about things Dean knew he had no chance of being involved in. Decorating trees and baking cookies and wrapping presents and a big holiday meal were things other people did. Except for a few magical holidays at Pastor Jim's, Christmas had always been just another lousy day in the life of the Winchesters and Dean had learned long ago to just suck it up. In school he would make paper snowflakes or cut outs of Santa and he would always bring them back to whatever was passing for home at the time so that Sam, at least, would have something normal at Christmas. Every Christmas, at every school he had ever been at, there would be a Christmas concert. And though Dean had never participated in any of the concerts, and had never actually opened his mouth at any of the rehearsals, he still remembered the songs twenty years later. Jingle Bells. Frosty the Snowman. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Walking in a Winter Wonderland. All the nice non-denominational songs non-Winchesters sang off key in a gymnasium full of parents every December.<p>

As usual, Christmas Eve 2009, found the Winchester brothers nowhere in particular. They had just finished up a hunt and were nursing a variety of injuries in a slightly more upscale motel than usual on the outskirts of Shreveport Louisiana. Dean was leaning against the headboard of the bed farthest from the door with his sprained right ankle propped up on a pillow and covered with an icepack. He held the remote to the t.v. loosely in his hand and flipped idly through the channels until he settled on an old black and white version of "A Christmas Carol." Dean's taste in holiday television viewing leaned toward the classics and to him that meant anything from his current program to the original How the Grinch Stole Christmas to A Christmas Story. Basically Dean considered anything a classic that he had seen enough times to have the dialogue pretty much memorized. Closed captioning totally sucked. It kept the dialogue way behind what was happening on the screen, though the misspellings and misplaced words were often hilarious.

Sam was sitting at a table near the window looking for apocalyptic omens and signs like it being a hundred and twelve degrees outside their fucking window on Christmas eve wasn't enough. It was what the weather forecasters were describing as "unseasonably warm" even by Louisiana standards. The north, meanwhile was suffering the worst winter in recorded history and an earlier e-mail from Bobby had informed them that he probably wouldn't be leaving his house until August, and then only if the world hadn't already ended.

Dean snuck sidelong glances at his brother during commercials and thought about what he had hidden in his duffle. Before the hunt and the sprained ankle he had caught sight of some skin mags in the gas station down the street and before he could talk himself out of it, had picked up a couple and wrapped them up in a paper bag. He didn't want to go the shaving cream route again, so he'd stopped by a drugstore and picked up a bottle of the girlie shampoo Sam used to keep that mop of his under some sort of control. If things didn't work out, the skin mags were something he'd enjoy himself, and the shampoo could be forgotten in the bathroom when they checked out. But he desperately hoped things _would_ work out. The Christmas two years (_forty two years)_ago had been, as far as he could remember, one of the best days of his life. If he was being honest, he'd have to admit that he really didn't remember much. When he'd gotten back from hell he remembered Sam and Bobby and their phone numbers but details of his life before were thirty years of unspeakable torture and ten years of unbearable guilt behind him. If this was going to be the last Christmas the world knew, he wanted to have a memory he could actually remember.

As his fingers idly played with the remote, Dean accidentally punched the volume button, blasting the bells tolling to signal the arrival of the Ghost of Christmas Present through the room and causing Sam to wince and yell, "fuck, Dean would you turn that shit down!" He turned to glare at his brother only to find him staring obliviously at the screen. Sam felt a flash of annoyance, followed by one of guilt for yelling at Dean. It wasn't Dean's fault he had come back from hell different. He picked up one of Dean's socks from the chair next to him and scored a bullseyes with it on the side of his brother's head.

It was Dean's turn to send an annoyed glance Sam's way. "What the fuck, Sam!"

Sam looked at Dean head on and signed as he spoke. "Keep it down."

Dean flushed and mumbled, "Sorry." He had a hard time modulating his voice properly. It had been over a year and he still yelled when he thought he was just speaking normally. He was turning back to the t.v. when another sock connected with his face.

"Not you, jerk. The t.v. You were actually fine. And sign when you talk. You'll never get it if you don't practice."

Dean gave Sam a sign he'd known long before he'd come back from hell. Hell, he'd come back from the pit whole and scar free. He hadn't lost his hearing until Castiel had tried to talk to him. Not that he'd known that until the meeting at the barn. If he'd known it was Castiel's voice that had fried his eardrums he'd never have let Pam try to actually see him. When Castiel had started talking in the barn and Dean could hear him, he'd thought his hearing had returned. Then Cas had given him one of his looks and explained that some people could handle his real voice and Dean wasn't one of them. Sorry, my mistake, with one of his stupid _looks._Dean could only hear Castiel because he was an angel of the friggin' Lord. Dean had spent the next year and a half dealing with the shit he'd gone through in hell, trying to figure out what the fuck was up with Sam, and trying to live his life without a sense a hunter really couldn't do without.

He didn't _want _to learn to sign. Reading lips was hard, but nobody would know that you couldn't hear. Damn Sam and his three years of ASL as an alternate language course in every high school that offered it. His fucking brother, whose fucking ears worked just fine could sign like a person who'd been deaf from birth and was teaching Dean whenever Dean would consent to learn. Dean didn't _need _to sign with Sam. He'd been watching Sam talk for so long that every word that came out of his mouth was clear and understood. They were trying to connect again though so any way he could communicate with Sam would help. Dean looked down at the remote, pushed the mute button and dropped it on the bed so he could have both hands free. This might be easier if he didn't actually have to _speak_the words. It would be even easier if he could do it without looking at Sam, in case Sam thought this was the worst idea he'd ever heard.

_Sam, _Dean signed hesitantly, _do you_ _remember that Christmas we had a couple of years ago?_ He glanced up from where he had been watching his hands clumsily do their thing to catch a flash of something in his brother's eyes. He thought that Sam, like himself was thinking about last Christmas. It had been just another day that Sam had lied and gone off with Ruby, leaving Dean alone with a bottle to celebrate the holiday. He hadn't scored any good brother points with the gift he had come back with either. A book of sign language that Dean had been in no way ready to deal with.

"Yes," Sam replied with his mouth and his hands. It had killed him to put that Christmas together, but Dean had wanted it so much that Sam had found it impossible to deny it to him

Um, _do you think we could do it again this year? It might be the last Christmas the world ever gets and it's damned likely to be the last one we ever get. What do you say we forget the Apocalypse for one night and have ourselves a nice normal Christmas?_

Sam really wasn't any more in the mood to celebrate Christmas now than he had been then. That year Dean had been going to hell because he'd made a deal for Sam's life and Sam couldn't stop it. This year the two of them had started the end of the world and Sam really didn't see any reason that either of them should get a break from trying to stop what ever was coming. But now, as then, Dean needed this. Post hell, post hearing loss, post little brother betrayal, Dean needed this. And Sam had failed Dean enough. If Dean wanted Christmas, Sam was on it.

"O.k. Anything special you want for dinner? And it's Christmas eve. I don't know how much Christmas stuff I'm going to be able to put together."

_Turkey dinners from the diner? Eggnog with booze? And don't worry about decorations, Sammy. Just get a string of lights if you can. _Dean grinned. _We'll hang them over the mirror._

Sam found himself grinning back at Dean. "You need anything before I go? More ice for your ankle?"

_I'm good. Just go would you? And don't forget the pie!_

Sam left and Dean reclined back against his pillows and picked up his movie. Scrooge was just sticking his head out the window to tell the kid to go buy the goose for the Cratchits. He and Sammy would eat, get toasted on eggnog and watch It's a Wonderful Life. They'd then get into a drunken debate over whether the world would have been better off if R.E.O Speedwagon had never been born.

Dean had lied to Sam before he left. The ice bag on his ankle did need to be refilled, but Dean had been confined to this freakin' bed all day and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to use Sam's absence as an excuse to get outside for a few minutes at least. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, balancing all his weight on his good foot. A few hops took him to the chair Sam had been sitting in and he grabbed the back with both hands. Using the chair as a kind of walker, he made his way across the room and out the door. Once outside, the heat almost knocked him right back through the door. The air conditioning had been on high in the room and the temperature outside hovered around the one hundred mark with 90% humidity. Dean closed the door behind him and made his way to the ice machine, filling the bag with ice and rubbing some over his face after he got there. He turned the chair around and sat in it, popping an ice cube into his mouth. It was hot and sticky out here, but Dean hated being cooped up and he would suffer the heat for as long as he could stand it before going back in the room.

He was sitting in the direction his back had been facing before, and as usual there were things going on back there that his ears would have clued him in to, but that his eyes were just now catching up with. A group of children stood in a semi-circle around the door of the room two down from his. They appeared to be eight or nine years old and were wearing red sneakers with bells, green shorts and white t-shirts with the words "St. Mary's Parish Christmas Choir" across the front. Across the back was "Shreveport Christmas Choir Competition 2009"

From his vantage by the ice machine, Dean could only see the face of the singer at the end of the semi circle facing him and the little girl was working it. The song, if Dean wasn't mistaken, was Silent Night and every word coming out of her mouth was as crystal clear to Dean as it would have been if he was actually hearing it. This song wasn't one of the ones he was really familiar with. It hadn't been sung in any of his school concerts, but he vaguely remembered some of the religious carols from Christmas service with Father Jim.

The children finished up their song and the little girl caught Dean looking at her. With a smile and a wave she called, "You're next!" and Dean gave her a wave in return. He'd been about ready to go back to the room and collapse in the air conditioning, but if a bunch of kids could be going around singing in this heat, he could sure as hell stay and listen to them. Or watch them. Whatever.

The children gathered around Dean and he took a moment to grin at them. All of a sudden he caught a flash of a memory of Sam at their age. All knees and elbows and touseled hair. He felt the pang he always felt when one of his memories came up out of the murk like that, and held the vision tight in his mind while he watched the children's faces as they began to sing. He had to give props to the kid's teacher because the little girl wasn't the only one enunciating like her life depended on it. No matter which face he scanned, they all were speaking directly to him. Then he realized _what_ they were singing.

"Angels we have heard on high. Sweetly singing o'er the plains..."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. Angels were the only thing he _could _hear now, but if they sang sweetly o'er the plains he was Paris Hilton. Castiel's hope. Uriel's insults. Anna's strength. Zachariah's arrogant demands. Raphael's threats. Their voices echoed in his head, while the sound of Sam's voice faded from his memory. Dean came back to himself at the tentative touch of a hand on his knee.

"Are you o.k., mister? We have a couple more songs to do for you. Do you want us to stop, now?"

Dean had to smile at the look on the little girl's face. It was a combination of concern and really, really wanting to sing the rest of her songs. He could deal. After all how many songs about angels could there be?

"Please, sing." he said, and it must have come out o.k because they didn't ask him to repeat it and they didn't jump like he'd yelled at them. The little girl beamed at him and Dean gave her his best smile back. It didn't last very long.

"Hark, the herald angels sing. Glory to the newborn king..."

Singing again. Maybe next time Zachariah popped by Dean should give him a request. Ask him to cover Master of Puppets. Maybe Michael knew Disposable Heroes. Somehow he didn't think either of them would be Metallica fans. He managed to keep his eyes open this time though he kept them averted so he didn't have to actually know what the rest of the song said.

He could see the mouths stop moving out of the corner of his eye and looked back at the children. No way three songs in a row... But no, there had to be a theme.

"The angel Gabriel from heaven came."

At this Dean sat up straight and his eyes darted around the surrounding area. Was _that _was this was? It really was too fucking surreal. It would be _just_ like that twisted little shit to do this. To send a bunch of pink cheeked moppets from St. Mary's to sing Christmas carols in hundred degree heat to a deaf guy. Christmas carols that extolled the virtues of angels. To _him._On the sidewalk outside a motel room. His eyes came back to the children as they started to move away.

"Hey," he stopped and cleared his throat. There was a chance, and a good one, that they were just a bunch of kids doing something nice for travelers like themselves who were stuck away from home at Christmas. "Thanks, that was really awesome."

The disappointed look on his little girlfriend's face disappeared, replaced by a wide, joyous smile. "Merry Christmas!" she said, then ran up and gave him a hug around the waist. Dean watched with a grin as she ran to catch up to her friends as they knocked on their next door and began excitedly talking to the elderly couple that emerged. He watched as they began to sing. Jingle Bells, followed by Rudolph, followed by Frosty. Dean swallowed a lump in his throat and wished that they could have skipped the angels and sung _him_ these songs that he had shared with Sam as a child.

A shadow fell over him and his brother's big hand fell on his shoulder. Sam's hands were full of bags and he spoke slowly so Dean would catch what he said."Cute kids. Must be ready to pass out from the heat though. And what exactly are you doing out here in this oven?"

Dean stood and hopped around to the back of the chair, using it to prop himself on so he wouldn't have to sign either. " I came out for some more ice and the kids wanted to sing for me. It would have been rude to go back in."

"They _sang_ for you?" Sam's lip quirked in amusement. "What did they sing?"

Dean just looked at him. "You think I don't know, bitch? You want to know what Christmas carolers sang to Dean Winchester? Songs about angels. The first two were about singing angels. Next time we meet I want Cas to do show tunes. The last one was about Gabriel. I actually thought for a second...This isn't _too _surreal, right?"

Sam looked around the parking lot and down the row of rooms to where the kids had moved on to the last room on this side. They were now singing to a young couple who each held a child of about three in their arms.

"No, no it isn't. I think this is just something people do at Christmas."

The children were too far away for Dean to read their lips any more.

"What're they singing now, Sammy?"

"O, Holy Night."

"Don't think I know that one."

The wistful tone in Dean's voice and the sad look on his face made Sam's heart contract with anger. Dean would never know that one now. He might learn the words, but hearing a choir of children's voices singing them was something he would never experience. Sam smothered the anger. Dean was alive and not in hell. They were together again and trying to work things out. It was Christmas, and if he couldn't really get behind the religious aspect of that, he could totally get behind the family aspect.

"Come on, Dean. I'd say our dinner was getting cold, but I'm going to have to go with our eggnog is getting hot." Sam knew better than to offer his brother help, so he just headed for the room, grinning as Dean and his chair clumped along behind him.

Later, stuffed full of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and in Sam's case, broccoli, they lounged on their beds, holding what wasn't even close to their first cups of spiked eggnog and watched the lights blinking on and off against the wall. Next to Sam lay the skin mags and shampoo. Next to Dean a box of Slim Jims and a pair of new wiper blades. And an empty pie plate.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean."

"Those kid's faces. When they were singing. They really believe that angels are the good guys. Watching over the world and protecting them from the bad guys."

"Most people believe that, Dean. Hell, I believed it until I met Uriel. And use your signs, damn it."

Dean sat up on the edge of his bed facing his brother and his fingers moved with a speed and accuracy Sam should have known he actually possessed. Dean never learned things half-assed and just because he didn't _want_ to learn something he needed to know didn't mean he _wouldn't _learn it to the best of his ability.

_Know what I want for Christmas next year?_

"Next year? Being kind of optimistic there aren't you?"

_I'm always optimistic. And I want for those kids and everybody else who believes the angel's p.r. to never find out first hand how wrong they are. To not be caught between angels and demons and to not be able to tell the which ones are which because they're being slaughtered by all of them. What do you say, Sam? Think we can pull it off?_

Sam just stared at him for a moment. Did he think they could pull it off? No, he didn't. But whenever he thought Dean was done, that he couldn't do something, that was always when his brother surprised the hell out of him. So, maybe, just maybe they _could _pull this off. He raised his glass of egg nog towards his brother.

"To next Christmas."

Dean's smile could have lit up the state. _To next Christmas._


End file.
